Pocket Parodies
by Molten-Ashes
Summary: A collection of One-Shots that blend Transformers with another show. (Chapter 3: Warm Bodies)
1. Kuroshitsuji

Disclaimer: I don't Transformers or Kuroshitsuji!

Please R&R!

(For my Friends Star Fata and Ice Fata, who have put up with my lengthy plot explainations for this small one-shot and have watched the anime 'Kuroshitsuji' with me. Ice Fata has even contributed a few sentences of dialogue to this :P

Please remember this doesn't actually follow the Black Butler plot, just has some ideas from the show. Enjoy!)

* * *

Prowl had forgotten to mention that he had brothers.

The two tiny, cherubic like, High Demon spawn fluttering around his quarters with shrieks and cries for their big brother's attention certainly rectified that.

"And this was going to be mentioned when?!" he thundered, stamping a pede as the dentaless demon spawn gummed at his audio horns, tiny claws, soft from their recent birth, scrabbled at his helm, the microscopic doorwings defying physics and flapping like a cyber-hummingbirds wings, buzzing as they held the rest of the new born aloft. Prowl had revealed that the annoyance was designated Bluestreak thanks to the clicks, whirls and high pitched shrieks the demon sparkling emitted whenever something wasn't getting gummed in his oral cavity.

"I intended never to let you know any of my otherworldly family, Master." The black and white High Demon said reproachfully, cradling the elder of the demon twins in his arms, the quieter spawn chewing casually on Prowl's sharp claws. "My Spawn Parent requested that I attend them while she performed a more serious contract."

"How does my Contract not qualify as serious?" Jazz growled, swatting at the baby High Demon on his helm horns which flew off with a buzz of flapping doorwings and a shriek of surprise.

"Your Contract is a simple exchange." The disguised High Demon sniffed rolling his azure optics in the flustered Jazz's direction as Bluestreak dive-bombed the Autobot Saboteur, naturally attracted to the mortal's spark that thrummed and beat under the visored mech's chest plates, "Your Spark for the ability to take revenge upon the ones who blew your city to smithereens."

"Speaking of Sparks," Jazz huffed as the silver and red highlighted spawn reattached to his chest plates, almost head butting the saboteur's chest plates in frustration with a whine, "He won't be able to get my spark will he?"

"No." assured Prowl with an almost evil smile, coming forward to push his little brother away from the chest plates that shielded the spark he had branded as his next meal, dropping the elder of the spawn into the air. "Your Spark is mine Jazz." He growled, the azure of his optics narrowing into thin slivers of cobalt on a hellish writhing red background as he casually lifted Jazz's visor from his face revealing the magic seal, unique to every demon displayed in a bright glowing purple flower across one of Jazz's optics and tattooing the surrounding faceplates with an intricate design that was always covered by the blue crystal visor.

Scowling, the saboteur slapped Prowl's servo away, "I'm well aware where my immortal spark will end up thank you."

"Good." The High Demon smirked, leaning in close so that their olfactory sensors were almost brushing, claws stroking at the mortal mech's chest plates with a delicate caress, "I've waited nearly two hundred vorns to dine on your soul, I'm not giving you up easily, my Master."

"I order you to take your servos off me!" Jazz hissed back, standing stiff as Prowl gave him a poisonous glare when the magical seal flared brightly, contrasting with the deep blue of his natural optic. The High Demon backed off, his new demonic brothers fluttering to hide behind him with squeals of submission, both twins peering over a doorwing each to eye Jazz wearily, chirring and chattering to each other. "Stop chancing your luck Prowl."

"Please." Sneered the ancient demon with a toss of his chevroned helm coaxing his brother from clinging to his doorwings, the eldest, Smokescreen chirruping as he landed once more in Prowl's arms, "I honour my contracts to the very last detail, you insult my work ethic."

"Just keep those spawns under control." Jazz sighed, rubbing at his optics before allowing his visor to slide back over them, "I trust you don't want Optimus to find out he has a High Demon as a Second in Command?"

"The only way he could possibly find out is if you supplied him with the information, Master." Prowl smirked, allowing a pointed fang to hang over his lip-plate, growling when Smokescreen gummed his servo a little too harshly, yanking his dented fingers away from the spawnling. "If you would be so kind Master, I request entertainment for my brothers. Paint Pens and slates perhaps? I wouldn't trust them with data-pads and stylus' yet." he enquired, bowing subserviently.

"I'll see what I can do." Jazz grumbled, stalking off into the corridor, leaving his demon to try and get some work done while the twin demon spawn fluttered around his helm causing chaos.

_**===A few Decaorn Later=== **_

"PROWL!" the voice of a golden frontliner bellowed throughout the base, making every mini-bot cringe and scatter to hide in somewhere a mech of Sunstreaker's size wouldn't reach, less the volatile mech wanted to play Minibot Toss with one of them again.

"Yes Sunstreaker?" the drone like Second in Command replied with a bland monotone, merely offering the sociopath a glance when the infamous Frontline Warrior Twins stormed into his office, Smokescreen and Bluestreak lounging on two comfy chairs, a complex illusion to look like adult mortal mecha coating the young demons that watched the scene with an almost guilty interest.

"Somebot is at it again!" the polish obsessed Sunstreaker growled slamming his palms onto the desk, cracking a data-pad that happened to be in his servo's path. "Look at what they done to my paintwork!"

"I see nothing out of place." The black and white Praxian disguised divine being commented, his gaze flickering between the two peeved looking brothers before him.

"Look!" the yellow mech snapped, grabbing his red and black twin, twisting the prankster so that Prowl could see the demon seal drawn with a brilliant pink paint pen in childish scrawl over Sideswipe's back plating. "Mine is even worse! It's in lime green!"

"I see." Prowl muttered, flicking a demonic slit opticked reproach at his brothers now looking extremely proud of themselves, Bluestreak was even purring, the nerve. "Sit, the both of you." He commanded, waving a servo, two extra seats flying forward and toppling the brothers to their afts, both frontliner's faceplates a startled mask of surprise when he snapped his fingers, the door to the office slamming closed, just as Jazz stepped over the boundary.

"Woah, Prowler." Jazz jumped, startled to find the High Demon, the favourite son of Unicron, this worked up. "Where's the fire?"

"In the Pits, which is where you two will be going back to if you dare to fly or teleport away." Prowl snarled at his little brothers, the spawn twins whimpering, the illusion that the black and white mech had cast on them shattering, revealing the same mechs, only in their tiny cherubic state, both clutching different coloured Paint Pens to themselves.

"What the frag!" Sunstreaker finally voiced, pointing at the cherubic Bluestreak that held the lime green pen, the grey, red highlighted demon fluttering his wings and shooting up into the air to fly around the room, dropping onto the horrified Sunstreaker to gum uselessly at his 'claimed' mech's helm fins, attempting to work out how to extract the golden mech's spark to eat. "What?! How?!" he squawked trying to swat the baby demon away, before he finally settled on, "Get him off me!"

"It seems," Prowl simmered, the aura in the room darkening considerably, the orange walls darkening and fading into black, the High Demon's optics slitting into their true form glowing, even as the rest of him became shrouded in the shadows. "That my new brothers seem to have tried to stake a claim on your sparks."

"Prowl…" Jazz warned darkly, preparing to flip up his visor and order the High Demon to control his kin, using the seal that Prowl had magically branded him with to cement their contract.

"Unfortunately, my darling brothers don't seem to realise that just because it said 'Magic Marker Paint Pens' on the packet, doesn't mean that the Pens themselves are magic!" Prowl ranted to himself as Smokescreen fluttered over to Sideswipe and sat in the disturbed frontliner's lap, sucking on his favourite pink pen.

Jazz dared to laugh as Sunstreaker finally gave up trying to attack the cheerfully cooing Bluestreak, sitting grumpily as the spawn continued to gum his helm fins, crossing his arms grumpily in disgust as Sideswipe finally gathered his wits enough to squeal over how adorable the tiny Smokescreen was, cuddling the surprised demon spawn to his chest plates and declaring that the sparkling could draw on him as much as he liked.

"Well, mechs." He chuckled, flipping up his visor to reveal his brand, Prowl skulking up behind him, the power of the pits radiating off his aura as he muttered about having to ask permission so he could educate his little brothers on the proper way to mark and claim a Spark as their next meal. "How about a story?"


	2. Doctor Who

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or Doctor Who

Please R&R

(I hope I didn't butcher the Doctor's personality to much. Anyway, this one is a crossover of sorts between the Bayverse Transformers and Doctor Who so I hope you enjoy it! Cookies for anybody who can find the Back to the Future Reference!)

* * *

"So, Ponds!" the Doctor grinned, bouncing around the TARDIS consol like a child in a candy store, flicking switches, pressing dodgy looking flashing buttons and twirling various thingamajigs before running up to the married couple that were bickering over where they wanted to go for the vacation the Doctor had promised them after the latest fiasco involving a planet with a misplaced Tyrannosaurus Rex, a wrench and the wrong end of a flamethrower. "Where do you want to go?!"

"As long as we go somewhere where we are not going to be running for our lives as soon as we get there," Rory grumbled, clearly having lost the argument with his fiery wife who smiled in triumph as her husband stalked off to slouch in a chair with a pout.

"How about a beach? In our time please. I know _our_ sandy shorelines aren't going to suddenly come alive and try to flay us alive." Amy smiled brightly, winking at her shuddering husband as he remembered the amount of running they had had to do not two days ago by a normal calendar.

"Oh that was just bad luck, I swear." The immature Time lord giggled, tossing his screwdriver over in his hand, before the TARDIS suddenly jerked violently, almost tossing the Doctor and Amy from their feet. "Woah old girl! Where's the fire?!" the alien babbled to the consol that began flashing, the column in the centre glowing brightly beginning to move like a piston, the loud groan of time and space wailing through the room as the TARDIS began to navigate by itself.

_**===Elsewhere===**_

Prowl thought that it would be nice to relax away from the base with his family for once, getting away from all the bureaucratic tape and veiled weariness the government liaisons spewed from their organic vocalisers every time he met with them. Risking having a ridiculous amount of sand in his joints, the black and white disguised police cruiser stretched out his legs in the warm grains, his vents huffing with surprise as the newly resurrected Jazz flopped across his plating with a grin.

Bluestreak sat a little away from them, half in recharge against a tree in the blazing sunlight as he sucked energon through a straw he had made out of some metal piping lying around Wheeljack's lab. Needless to say, everybody at their improvised picnic was watching him wearily, less he suddenly blew up or randomly changed colour. Anything was possible when you rifled through the Engineer's domain.

Sunstreaker was sitting directly in the centre of the metal matting, scowling at the sand beyond the silver blanket where Sideswipe and Smokescreen were attempting to build a sand castle, both arguing about the possibility of persuading a NEST operative to try walking into it and using the humans to play 'house'.

"Was it wise to bring the Twins along Prowler?" Jazz asked sleepily, nuzzling his mate's thighs, "Was supposed to be a family picnic."

"As much as I am going to regret saying so," Prowl sniffed, casting a brooding golden optic in his Creation's direction as Bluestreak was nudged awake, the silver sniper jerking upright with a squeal of surprise nearly choking on his straw and energon as Sunstreaker jabbed his claws in a ticklish spot of wiring with a fond grin, "Sunstreaker and Sideswipe will probably be bonded into the family soon enough. I still say Smokescreen is a cradle robber though, he's nearly a complete millennium older than Sideswipe."

"Hi pot, I'm called Kettle." Jazz giggled, earning a flick of claws to his sensitive audios, sending confusing static signals straight to the saboteur's processors. "Hey!"

"It wasn't my fault some young prodigy musician decided to charm his way into the record office and change all of his information, get a paint redo, then go and rob a bank, just so he could get arrested to attract my attention." The Tactician huffed, "You were so lucky Optimus and Red Alert only found out a few centi-vorns ago."

"I got enough ribbing from Ratchet about it, thank you very much." Jazz muttered sourly watching as a pod of dolphins jumped in the waves, remembering the long, explicit language filled lecture the brightly coloured medic had thrown his way about under-age bonding as he came out of stasis after a particularly harsh battle. "How was I supposed to know that you can tell a bot's age by examining their spark chamber?"

"I'm so glad I persuaded you to let me Carry Bluestreak." Prowl sighed, rolling his optics, "I would have never heard the end of it from Ratchet…"

A sudden wind rippled across the private area of the beach on Diego Garcia, the palm trees above them rustling against their branches, a loud series of warped groans filling the air making the trio of Praxian's on the beach stiffened as their doorwings tried to process the odd sensations. Sunstreaker growled, springing to his pedes, his swords sliding forward, the golden blades sharp and gleaming in the sun, Sideswipe copied his brother as Smokescreen shimmied towards Prowl with a skittish hiss, the Tactician rising with a calm, cold aura, his doorwings flaring wide and high in a subconscious threatening gesture already on the comm. to the panicky Red Alert warning him of the imminent arrival of an unknown craft.

Bluestreak chirred aiming his rifle at the centre of the vortex as a small blue contraption began to materialise, fading in and out of existence with bright blue light emitting from its top. "It's… a Police Box?" Jazz voiced incredulously as the torrent of wind and sand kicked up by the odd craft died down near the shoreline.

"I don't care what it is." Sunstreaker growled, casting his gaze distastefully downward to his now sand covered pedes, the small pebbles in the fine grains having etched micro scratches in his flawless paintwork, "It got sand in my gears and it's scratched my paint!"

"Of course you'd worry about your paint job over some unknown possibly dangerous object." Jazz snickered, braced on one knee joint, his EMP cannon extended with its shield from his arm plating, the muzzle crackling with electric energy.

Without much ceremony, the doors were flung open and an oblivious humanoid creature bounced out in what appeared to be swimming trunks, flippers, a giant rubber ring balanced around his hips and a snorkel braced on his forehead, "Alright Ponds! Beach ho!"

"I think I'm going to crash." Bluestreak whimpered, his logic chips, though not as seriously advanced as his Carrier's, working in overdrive to understand the alien that was now doing an odd walking motion towards the crystal clear waters of the sea, the flippers slapping at the sand.

"I want to crash." Sunstreaker said with snort as they were completely ignored by the humanoid, "Primus, those neon yellow swimming trunks don't suit him one bit!"

"Doctor!" a female voice cried, surprising the mechs as a woman strode out in a two piece bikini, her red hair whipping in the sea breeze, "Where are the sun loungers?!"

"Prowler. They are either completely ignoring us, or they don't realise we are here." Jazz whispered as his mate had an odd resigned look on his faceplates.

"Leave it to me, stand down your weapons." The Praxian rumbled, striding forward through the sand.

_**===Down The Beach===**_

"I trust you are here for a vacation Doctor?" a deep rumble nearly had the humanoid alien jumping out of his skin, his sonic screwdriver whipping out of his swimming trunks' pocket and now aimed at the giant robot now looming over the shocked Amelia Pond. "And put your toy away, you know it doesn't work on Cybertronians."

"Prowl!" the Time Lord cried gleefully, jumping from the water and flipper slapping his way over to the black and white mech, dripping water all over the unimpressed Cybertronian's pede as he patted it, "It's been at least three hundred years since I last saw you!"

"Indeed." The chevroned mech nodded switching his golden gaze to the now gaping Amy Pond. "New companions?"

"Oh how rude of me!" the Doctor grinned, patting the human woman on the shoulder that was now pointing up at the robot, her mouth working like a fish, "Prowl, meet Amy Pond! Pond meet Prowl, a Cybertronian from the planet Cybertron, which is… very far away actually."

"Salutations." The Second in Command said, kneeling down on one knee to examine the female closer as another male exited the craft grumbling about the lack of sun cream.

"Amy!" the male human cried, running forward as if to try and fend Prowl off, earning a series of collective hisses from Prowl's 'back up' further up the beach.

"Rory!" the Doctor smiled as the Tactician rose up to his full height, casting his gaze back to the five bots nervously loitering around the picnic blanket and welcoming them over with a jerk of his helm. "This is my old friend Prowl, he helped me repair the TRADIS when I crashed on Cybertron, who also has a few friends with him it appears."

"My family." The mech rumbled fondly as Jazz bounced forward with his usual catchphrase of 'What's crackin' little bitches?', confident in his mates evaluation of the situation while the rest crowded round wearily, Sunstreaker grumbling as he picked his way across the sand. "Though I am bewildered as to why you are here Doctor. Doesn't the galaxy need saving somewhere?"

"Nope." The Doctor replied popping the 'p', "Alls fine and dandy, anyway, I could state the same about you Prowl, How does a Cybertronian end up on Diego Garcia, on Earth without my knowledge?"

"The American government has given us sanctuary in return for kicking Decepticon aft." Sunstreaker growled keeping an optic on Bluestreak who was now poking at the blue box with Sideswipe, as Smokescreen chatted with the humans, offering them advice on where best to swim so they didn't get nibbled on by the sharks. Needless to say, Amy and Rory kept to the beach after that.

"That War still going on then?" the Doctor asked mournfully as the trio of Cybertronians nodded.

"But it's died down recently." Jazz shrugged, "Megatron is lying with the fishes at the bottom of the sea and most of his soldiers have gone rouge. So it's basically a cleanup job."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that Jazz." Prowl snorted in mild amusement, turning his gaze to the Doctor, "The humans have an annoying habit of not telling us about what other Cybertronian objects are scattered around their world and their immediate solar system. It is very aggravating."

"Say no more, say no more, I totally understand," the Time Lord grinned, before yelling over at Bluestreak and Sideswipe as they poked and prodded the light at the top of the Police Box. "Hey! She's not a button! Stop poking her!"

"She?" Sideswipe asked with a snort, circling the small box with a puzzled frown, Bluestreak jerking away with an embarrassed chirr.

"Yes, this TARDIS is described as being female." Prowl grumbled, coming over and patting the deep blue 'wooden' frame as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe moved off to interrogate the human companions, "A bit delusional though. I hooked up to her to repair some internal coding and she insisted that we were dating."

"Oh no you're not!" Jazz protested, jealously grabbing Prowl's arm as the ship gave a loud hum, suspiciously like a purr. "Prowl's mine! He Carried my Sparkling, I gave him half my spark, so there!"

"Jazz, don't piss her off." The Tactician implored as the Doctor became easily distracted by Sideswipe's attempts to persuade Rory to try out his sand castle, flipper walking his way over to declare that he wanted to be the 'kid' when the silver swordsmech got the rest of the 'house' together. "She can travel through time and cause all sorts of merry mayhem with her Time Lord."

"So did you date a non-Cybertronian Carrier?" Bluestreak chirred, still curious about the time machine, circling it curiously, trying to extend his electromagnetic field in greeting, frowning when he didn't get a reply.

"In the TARDIS' warped conscious, yes I suppose I did." Prowl grumbled as Jazz hissed possessively, no doubt glaring at the blue box behind his dark visor.

"Oh my Primus! I'm the love child between Prowl and a time machine!" Bluestreak shrieked in distress. "No wonder I have an obsession with Delorians!"

"Bluestreak. You were several centi-vorns into your adult frame before I even met the TARDIS!" Prowl snapped, throwing up his arms into the air and stalking back to the blanket to try and resume his peace and quiet, leaving the younger mechs to socialise with the Doctor and his companions. "It's insulting really, we didn't even interface in _that_ kind of way!"

However, as Jazz sprawled over his legs again with a possessive purr, the saboteur realised one important fact, mentally doing calculation in his helm as he compared the millennium old bond he shared with Prowl to the Praxian's apparent fling with the TARDIS some three hundred years ago, scowling up at the equally frustrated looking Tactician.

"So… when were you going to tell me that you cheated on me with a Time Machine?"

* * *

A/N: Last time I checked, The Doctor was about Nine Hundred Years old. So hopefully the time frame in which he met good old Prowler is believable. If not, lets pretend its plausible.


	3. Warm Bodies

Discalimer: I don't own Transformers or Warm Bodies

Please R&R

(This is for my dear friends Ice Fata, Star Fata and Bubble-Wolf. We all went to see Warm Bodies and I couldn't resist doing a Pocket Parody about it to comemerate a brilliant night out. Enjoy!)

* * *

He's dead, She's dead and that frame slouched over with half a railing sticking out of it's faceplate as it drunkenly stumbles off the escalator? Definitely dead.

It's pathetic really, I mean, we're all dead, stumbling around and into each other with low primal grunts of apology. I think my name is Bluestreak, if anybody was wondering who was doing this depressing mental monologue, at least, that's what my name tag says. The old red label is slowly peeling off my rusting chest plate, the metal of my armour flaking away underneath the metallic strip, the soft chime surprises me as the reminder slips to the dusty floor, grinding into the metal as I trod on it with a numbing disinterest.

I don't know who I was or what I did for a living before I ended up like this, for all I know is that one day, or evening, I just realised I was wandering around an old, half destroyed, shuttle station with a horrid limping gait and had no clue what the frag I was doing, a painful hunger for _living_ prey rumbling constantly in the back of my mind and digestion tank.

There are a lot of us here, in this station, the 'Decayed' as my food will sometimes scream at me when I go hunting in the abandoned buildings around the shuttle port with my usual hunting group. I like to guess what other bots did for a living, back when their spark still beat under their chest plates and it wasn't a grey blob hovering eerily in the centre of a dark crystal box.

That familiar 'decayed' femme repeatedly walking into a wall as I shuffle past? Her helm smacks over and over into the glass, a blank, dazed expression covering her faceplate as the booms echo around the surrounding area. She is a runaway from an arranged bonding, judging by the suitcase handle that she always has clasped in her locked fingers, the main part of the case long gone to the winds.

That young mechling, barely out of his sparkling vorns? He was going on holiday to Iacon with his Creators to a Theme Park. Now he just stands alone, small helm twitching as he clutches a dusty toy by the arm and weaves a skittish pattern between two data-book displays in front of a smashed up souvenir shop.

I shuffle with a deep grunt of annoyance into the bowels of the shuttle port, one of the sections that is beginning to lose power, the lights flickering wildly, a deep hissing draws my attention to the skeletal frames brooding in their shady corner, all three creatures, a mass of exposed wires and simple skeleton frame, only protoform armour to cover them in certain areas. I just call them 'Protoforms' and disturbingly, I know that I will eventually become one.

The Transformation into them happens when we just stop caring. We just stop wandering and waiting for something to happen, a hope lost in our world of the dead. A mech in the corner is picking at his faceplate, tearing away a large chunk of his cheek, only for his ruby ringed optics to light up at the slight of the flesh, denta flashing as he devoured himself. That just speeds up the process.

The Protoforms eat anything with a spark-pulse. I mean, I will too, but at least I'm conflicted about it.

My best friend in this boring place is another Decayed. He usually sits at a half crumbled bar, doorwings slumped low on his back, nudging an empty sparkling crystal glass around the smooth bar top, kept clean by his constant visits in-between hunting trips and the bizarre obsessive way he move the glass around to and fro between his palms. His name is Prowl and my guess is that he used to be an Enforcer, his once bright white and black paint faded with the dead nanites that gave him the colour in the first place, some dark silver metal of his protoform poking from between the bullet holes in his armour given to him by our prey the last time we went hunting.

He grunts in a non-committal manner when I slump into the stool next to him, his neck cables creaking when he turns his helm to me, his infected red ringed optics meeting mine. We sit like this most mornings, grunting and staring awkwardly into each other's optics. Orns pass this way, and sometimes, if we're lucky, proper words with even form on our dead lips and vocalisers.

"H… Hun..gry." I groan out, sounding almost physically pained, my greyed doorwings raising with an invitational interest.

"Ssss…city." He hisses back, almost as if he has a run a marathon and needs to catch his breath. His own doorwings tilt up as I swing to and from in my seat, almost launching myself away from the bar and stool with surprising quickness as I begin to feel the never-ending hunger for living energon, sparks and plating peak in my tank.

He raises a servo, as if to hail a waiter for his bill, pausing when he spots his raised hand in confusion before he rises to follow me, others, our other 'friends' and usual hunting buddies, cluster together around us, and we all begin to shuffle with purpose towards the deserted town beyond the Shuttle Port.

It will take a while, we can't transform, only the living can do that. The relevant coding used to activate a transformation sequence lost when our processors shut down forever. So we are stuck having to stumble and waddle our way towards the building in the distance. Prowl and I make it a game to race each other sometimes to an abandoned transport half blocking the road, it may not be a glamorous race, two 'zombies' shuffling comically fast down a broken road, but frag, I'm taking my entertainment where I can get it.

_**=Survivor Settlement= **_

Sighing with a despairing huff, Sunstreaker loaded an unused clip of solid bullet rounds into his sniper rifle, holding up the long polished gun and peering down the scope at his red and black plated twin that made a face at him from across the mission room as he poked his helm in through the door.

"Time to go, Sunny." Sideswipe called, waving a worn polished battle blade that he had equipped himself with, the perfect length for cutting a helm free of neck cabling. A short range plasma pistol strapped to his thigh as a back up. "The usual mission video is about to play."

"I've seen it a million times." The golden mech replied with a temperamental growl, standing regardless to follow his sibling out into the blistering light of the morning, magnetising his gun to his back. His plating shone as they both took their place in the line of Foragers.

"Sunstreaker." His berth partner smiled leeringly at him, making the scowling mech narrow his optics challengingly at his lover that leaned closer to him, the gold mech's olfactory sensor picking up the low scent of polish that Tracks always used, the harsh clean smell unusually strong this morning.

"Tracks." He replied lowly, a deep note of lust lingering, both jumping slightly when Sideswipe cleared his vocaliser with disapproving of static as the video projected on the gates began to reel, the red and black twin checking his list of the medical items that they needed for the barricaded settlement.

Sunstreaker attempted to twine his fingers with Tracks', but the red face plate of his lover twisted in a dark expression before he pulled away, "We have a job to do." He said as the vid ended and the gates reeled open with loud clanks, striding out into the small minefield at the entrance with the more bold mechs and femmes of their group.

"Is he feeling aright?" Sideswipe asked in confusion as the two brothers followed, covering the rear as another soldier, Jazz, waved them off. "Usually, you have to get a crowbar to wedge you two apart from trying to suck the other's faceplate off."

"He hasn't been acting normal lately." The gold mech admitted softly, readying his rifle as they proceeded towards the hospital some thirty blocks away keeping an optic out for any lurking 'Decayed'. "But he'll be fine."

_**=Bluestreak= Late Afternoon= **_

Something reeked of polish.

Prowl had smelt it too, taking deep huffing breaths of air as he sniffed out the living creature, lumbering towards the hospital doors we had been shuffling past before the wind had changed, funnelling down the street, our group lingering in a loose circle with confused moans as they too tasted the air with loud sampling sniffs. I shuffled to his side, doorwings twitching erratically as my constant hunger latched onto the smell.

"F…fff…food." I rasped eagerly, Prowl grunting a low acknowledgement as our group ascended the cracked hospital stairs with an increased predatory pace…


End file.
